The Dark Passenger 2,0
by Khordealis
Summary: I don't know how many times I've wandered the streets of Moscow, bottle in hand and reeking of alcohol or vomit. I lost count long ago of how many times I've passed out in some gutter - haunted even in drunken sleep by all my memories... (TDP is back - by the same author, but under a new name!)
1. The Dark Passenger

**Disclaimer: **Beyblade is not mine, nor are the characters. The lyrics quoted in this chapter belongs solely to their artists, not me.

**Warning: **alcoholism, swearing, angst, yaoi – same old same old.

**Xxx xXx xxX**

_Alcoholism is a really two-sided thing. A very complicated, yet ridiculously simple thing. Ever since we were teens, everyone around me always drank to party. I joined the parties, but I never drank to have a good time. Every bit of alcohol I passed into my bloodstream was to numb everything out. I found out early, somewhere around the age of fifteen – when I first started drinking – that I happen to have a very high tolerance. It was a good thing in the sense of me still being standing when the others were at their limits. So I could always get them home safely and then carry on by myself. It takes a whole lot of booze to get me drunk enough to forget everything. It was also a bad thing, in the sense that I had to be at it for a while before the blessed oblivion would take me away for a few hours - and of course because I had to make sure to always have big supplies hidden away at home. Me being a big bad evil Russian helped me out nicely; I was almost expected to be able to take huge amounts of booze and shrug it off, so no one was ever really surprised that there was a lot of alcohol around when I partied. _

_Such a ridiculously easy cover, ne?_

_Strange really, how I – who is famous for my coldness and self control – became slave to the bottle so easily. Within a year of escaping from that cursed place called Balkov Abbey, I drank on a daily basis. The first thing I did every morning, besides taking a whole chart of painkillers and cursing my tolerance towards those things as well, was to take a cup of coffee with something alcoholic in it. I was always the first one up, anyway, so no one noticed. I got up, drank my booze with coffee, showered the smell off, brushed my teeth shiny white and went to wake the others up. Everyday. And I drank every chance I got – especially if we were going to be out in public or battling. Stupid, I know. Through the whole tournament before BEGA, during the whole shit __**with**__ BEGA, I was drunk. That's why my performance by the beydish was so beneath contempt. I know that if I had been sober then, I would not have lost a single battle. That vile little punk Garland would never have beaten me. But I __**wasn't**__ sober. Of course, my team mates, who happens also to be my best friends, noticed that something was wrong. Back then I still shrugged them off and told myself I had control. It was just a little help on the way. It just dulled the edges on the pain._

_But everything was going downhill. Thankfully, we had moved in with our favourite little bastard by then, in a mansion from God knows when, and the damages from the Abbey came in millions. The pay from the blading was also good by then, so we got by without having to get hold of jobs. I mean, none of us could hold down a job even if we tried. We were just too fucked up. And living in the mansion in Moscow kept us away from all the nosy reporters digging up trash for all to see, and I was glad for that. Because my control was slipping so fast I hardly even had time to realize it – much less prevent it. The others had, apparently, caught on long ago, but still not been sure enough to confront me about it. Guess they had been busy dealing with all their own shit. By the time they really saw that I was slipping, I was already so deep in the shit I couldn't even see the surface._

_I don't know how many times I've wandered the streets of Moscow, bottle in hand, reeking of alcohol or vomit – or both. Blood splatter from fights covering my clothes, rain and snow wetting through the fabric without me noticing it. I lost count long ago of how many times I passed out in some gutter, or on some park bench like some fucking hobo, haunted even in drunken sleep by all my memories._

_They found me, of course. They always found me, and I still don't know how. When Bryan, Spencer or Ian found me, they'd scream their heads off at me and then drag me home and throw me in the shower. And then they would continue to yell at me for being a stupid drunk fuckhead. But it was always the worst when Kai found me. He never yelled at me. He never said a single word. All he ever did was put a jacket around my shoulders, take me home and put me to bed. He was always quiet, and that was the hardest part. I would really have preferred it if he had just punched me around and call me every single insult he knew – and he knows quite a decent amount of insults. But no. There was some sort of resigned sadness in his eyes, but the harsh words never came. Sometimes when I woke up in the morning, he would be asleep on the floor next to my bed, to keep watch on me, I guess. Sometimes he was gone. _

_Kai had his own way of dealing with everything: he ran. He travelled around the world like the very demons of hell were on his tail. He slept around, he got in fights, tried various things to numb all the shit out. He never stayed in one place longer than two weeks before moving on. There were long periods of time when we didn't hear a single word from him, and that was when we started watching the news anxiously, listening to the radio non stop, calling the BBA every other day – hoping to God nothing had happened to him. Kai did, for a long time carry around really strong suicidal thoughts, and even made a few attempts. We always got to him in time, and I think he was thankful for that. It has never been that he wanted to die – it was that he didn't want to live. Sounds strange, I know, but there is a difference. He could be gone for months on end and then show up at the doorstep, exhausted both mentally and physically. Sometimes half starved, other times coming off whatever new shit he had tried. All we could do was nurture him back to health again. He could lie in bed for days and days, sleeping like he had never slept in his whole life before. Then he would stick around for a few weeks, and be almost like himself again. But then the darkness always came back – and we would just wake up one morning and he was gone again._

_And it broke my heart every time. I had always been closest to Kai, and I knew him even better than our other three friends did, and they all know him inside out. When he was at home, I felt somehow calmer. I didn't drink as much as usual, and I actually felt ok every now and then. We would do what we had always done; go for long walks in the middle of the night, sit on the roof of the terrace and eat ice cream, and talk. We could talk for hours on ends about everything and nothing. It was sometimes like what we said wasn't important – it was that we said it to each other. I know that people don't think either of us has emotions – but it's quite the contrary. Especially Kai has a very wide range of emotions, with so many nuances it can be hard to follow. He is a very warm and loving person underneath that mask of his. My emotions were forced into hiding throughout most of my life – yes – but that doesn't mean I don't have them. I feel as much as anyone else. I love, I laugh, I hurt, I cry, I hate, just like everyone else. It was soothing, I think, to both of us to be that close again. If I was sober, he would climb into my bed at night and sleep with his face hidden against my neck and a steady grip on my hair – just like old times. Just like the little boy he once was. Like the small boys we both were._

_But I was still slave to the bottle. Still buckling under the weight of all the nightmares, the flashbacks, the memories. I couldn't function without alcohol. It was as simple as that. I needed to feel numb, and since no drugs will ever work on me, that was the only thing I had to resort to. Being an alcoholic, is like having two sides. You're two faced, like a coin. There is you, and there is the passenger in your head. The one who sits there, commenting on you life, you choices, your thoughts. Who edges you on to take that last glass. And then another, and then another. You're as much that passenger's puppet as you are the bottle's slave. And you drink to forget, and to shut that voice up. You drink until you can't see, you can't feel, you can't remember where you are, how you got there, where you live – you drink until your passenger is satisfied. I remember hearing a song playing in Kai's stereo once, that really said what I felt. I had no idea who the band was, but somehow, their music connected with me. I remember that song so clearly._

"_Why does it feel like night today?  
Something in here's not right today  
Why am I so uptight today?  
Paranoia's all I got left  
I don't know what stressed me first  
Or how the pressure was fed  
But I know just what it feels like  
To have a voice in the back of my head_

_It's like a face that I hold inside_

_A face that awakes when I close my eyes_  
_A face watches every time I lie_  
_A face that laughs every time I fall_  
_{And watches everything}_  
_So I know that when it's time to sink or swim_  
_That the face inside is here in me, right underneath my skin_

_It's like I'm paranoid looking over my back  
It's like a whirlwind inside of my head  
It's like I can't stop what I'm hearing within  
It's like the face inside is right beneath my skin"_

_That was how it felt. Like there was someone inside me, watching, laughing, controlling. And I kept falling. I kept slipping. And then, about a year ago – everything fell apart. _

"Hi, my name is Tala, and I'm an alcoholic."

"Hi, Tala."


	2. Withdrawal

**Sunday morning...**

I woke up that morning to a splitting headache – which in its own was really nothing new. One would think that the hangovers would get less bothering with time – but obviously my body thinks otherwise. What was new that morning was the fact that I was hurting all over. A band across my chest felt like it had been run over by a mill-wheel, my neck was stiff as I don't fucking know what, I had one arm in a sling and one leg wrapped up like some fucking Christmas present. I also didn't recognize the room I was in. It took a while for my eyes to want to open, but when they did, I realized that I sure as hell wasn't at home. I was in a hospital. That was really nothing new either, but I couldn't remember being in this much pain before.

"Oh, so you're finally awake, you motherfucking king of all drunk-ass screw-ups."

I looked over to the left side of my bed, not that I really had to – I knew whose voice that was – and saw Bryan sitting there in one of those uncomfortable visitor's chairs. He did not look happy. Great. What had I done this time? Nothing a few trips with the Captain wouldn't take care of when I got home, or so I thought.

"Hey, Bry," I said, trying to sound calm but not overly so. He just snarled at me.

"Don't you fucking come here and 'Hey, Bry' me. I bet you thought that little stunt you pulled was a damned good idea, but I sure as hell don't. Neither does the kid's parents, the police or the doctors. You've really gotten yourself up shit-creek this time, Tala."

Police? What kid? Shit. What the hell had I done this time?

He must have noticed me staring at him, because he sighed, rubbed his temples and glared at me.

"You don't remember shit, do you? Nothing new there. Last night, you visited every fucking pub and club in this freaking city, got drunk off your ass and decided that driving home was a splendid fucking idea. You ran over a kid and crashed into a fucking wall."

"What?" I seriously don't think my voice ever sounded that small before in my life! "Is... is he..."

"Dead? No. But the doctors are shitting dumbfounded as to _how_ the hell he survived! He's in comatose, you fucking shithead. He had massive internal bleeding, they had to amputate his right leg, and his other leg as well as his left arm and right shoulder are broken. He's a mess. Do you, you alcoholic retard even realize the mess you're in now? What do you think will happen when this comes out? Cause it's going to. Someone's gonna leak the story, and then you'll have half the world's reporters on you ass. Then you're gonna have to do like our runaway brother and just go underground. You know our reputation – people are gonna fucking accuse you of doing it intentionally. Mr. Dickinson has been informed and he's doing all he can to help and keep this shit quiet, but people will think the worst of you – and you know that too."

"Oh... my God..."

"That doesn't even fucking begin to cover it, Tala."

At that moment I wanted to die.

I'm not trying to be a drama queen here – I really wanted to die. For all this time I had told myself that no one but me would suffer because of this, that I had control. But I almost killed a kid! I've killed people before, on Boris's orders, but that was when I was a cold, brainwashed monster. It's not only all the experiments, all the torture that's caused my behaviour. No, it's also the knowledge of what I've done that has haunted me since before we escaped the Abbey. And Bry was right in every word he said. I was so deep in shit, I might as well dig my own grave and kill myself. Save the world more grief. People will always think the worst of us. That reputation will never wash away – no matter how hard we try. We are always looked upon with suspicion. Particularly me, Bry and Kai. Spencer and Ian hasn't shown enough of the monstrous sides they have for people to fear them the same way as they fear us. Not saying people like them, but they have been spared of having to display the same cruel behaviour as we have done.

I couldn't hold back the tears that began flooding down my cheeks. Bry just watched me cry. He made no attempt whatsoever to comfort me. And he did right. I deserved no comfort. I deserved the pain I felt. Every tiny bit of it. I cried for three hours, I think. When I finally managed to form coherent thoughts again, Bry looked at me very sternly.

"We've managed to keep you out of going to rehab, but you are going to get sober now. We've had enough. I swear, Tala, if I even suspect that you've been drinking one single drop of alcohol from now on – I will give you the worst fucking beating you've ever experienced. I will make Boris's punishments seem like heaven – got it? And then I'll hand you over to Spence and Ian and let them do the same. And next time Kai comes home, he will probably do the same. I'm going home now. Spencer will pick you up when you get out. If I stay here one more minute, I'm gonna kill you."

Yes, he meant it. Bry goes around and threatens to kill people all the time without really meaning anything by it – but there are times when he really does. There's something in the tone of his voice that changes, and then you know you have to get out of his sight or he will. When Bryan is furious, he's more dangerous than even me – and I'm about ten times stronger and enduring than him.

I was discharged the same afternoon, after being scolded by the doctor and given the schedule for the local AA meetings. To him, I wasn't the famous Tala Ivanov of the Blitzkrieg boys – no I was just a stupid drunk fucking asshole, and he was glad I left his ward. That was actually nice. Not to be scolded and knowing what I had done, but to be treated like a normal person; like I wasn't special in any way. You think you would love having attention drawn to you every time you step outside your door, and paparazzi, fangirls and fanboys following you around to get your autograph or ask you for your opinions on the latest Beyblade tournament? I would gladly trade places with you! I dare you to spend one week in my shoes and then tell me it's wonderful!

Spencer picked me up by the reception. They wanted me to go in a fucking wheelchair, and I refused. I have fucking competed with worse injuries than these – I will not go anywhere in a fucking wheelchair like some fucking wuss. In the end, they gave up and handed me a pair of crutches. It was still humiliating, but acceptable. And Spence didn't even say hello to me. He only nodded in the direction of the elevator. And that's a sure sign of being in trouble. Spencer _always_ has something comforting to say. He can _always_ give you support. And now, he wasn't. His eyes were almost black from being so angry. And that's rare. I don't think I've seen Spence really seriously angry more than five or six times in my life. Four of those times, people have died. I knew that, so I was really scared. If he punched me now, with the condition I was in, I would be laying next to the kid – or in my grave.

But what scared me the most, what really made me want to be six feet under, was the thought of what Kai would do when he found out. Kai's opinion has always mattered the most to me. Now that's not saying I don't care about the others' opinion! Not at all. They are really important to me. They are my family, after all. I have no one else but them. But Kai is special to me. I was the one who took care of him when he first came to the Abbey – when he was just a scared, tiny four-year-old boy.  
He clung to me like a shadow, slept in my bed every other night, held me when I was upset, told really lame jokes he heard from the other kids to get me to lighten up – and was just _always_ there. When we were beaten, there were many times he ignored his own injuries to tend to mine. When Boris put me on forced starvation – he smuggled food to me. I did much the same for him, and I don't think there's a person in this world that can see straight through my soul the way he can. The thought of him being mad at me scared me shitless. Truth to be told, I feel lost without him.

When I arrived home, the guys had searched every inch of the house – from floor to ceiling – and found all my hidden supplies. It was a lot of alcohol. I think there were about fifty bottles standing in the entrance hall. Full or semi full. That was... really a punch in the face. I never realized there were so many. Especially given that I had already finished about six or seven bottles during the week. I drank one bottle of vodka every day just to stay on my feet. And if I had a shitty day, that doubled. Or tripled. They looked at me, right in the eyes, and Ian finally spoke.

"You really had some creative fucking stashes. But this shit is going down the drain now. And you're gonna watch it happen. And then there will be no more fucking alcohol in this house. We won't fucking allow you a single drop – ever again. You understand? We've had it with this. We've had it with you. Sober up, or we'll kick your ass out and lock you up in a fucking rehab and let Kai decide if you're ever coming back."

I think it would have hurt less if they had just beaten me up. Every single sentence was like a punch right into my soul. And when it connected with my brain that I wasn't gonna get my happy-pills to deal with this shit... God, I just broke down. I begged them to let me drink this away. Just this shit, then I would stop.

I _begged._

That's when they did punch me for real.

I won't even go into the details on it, but ten minutes later I was a bleeding fucking mess. And I don't blame them. We've always resorted to violence when one of us is being a jerk. Or, well, when anyone is being a jerk, really. That was the way we were raised. Violence is like an instinct to us. Someone threatens us – and we go for the throat. It really isn't normal, but when were we ever normal? They sat me down at the kitchen table – Spencer holding me up while Bry and Ian poured bottle after bottle down the drain. It felt absolutely horrible. I don't think you can really understand what goes on in the head of someone with a really heavy addiction when something like that happens. It was pure torture. I saw my salvation, my life preserver go down the drain and I could do nothing to stop it.

When they were finally done, I felt so lost, so numb, so hollow. Spencer helped me up to my room and took care of the injuries they had inflicted on me and then tucked me in. The good thing about Spencer is that he never stays angry for long. He had been furious, but he could let it out when he beat me up, and now he was back to being caring. He was still angry with me, I know he was. But that raging fury was gone. But just when I thought things couldn't get any worse – they did. Alcohol, like any other drug, has a really nasty withdrawal process. Especially when you've been abusing it for a decade like I had. At first, I started trembling like nothing I had ever experienced before. Then I got a fever. And started throwing up repeatedly. Then the anxiety – although the word doesn't even begin to describe it. I had hallucinations, my heart was like a racing sledgehammer in my chest, the sweat was literally pouring off me. The guys had to help me change my clothes and sheets several times a day.

They didn't leave me alone for a second, and I know they were really scared. I could see it in their postures and eyes. And in hindsight I can understand them. I am never sick, due to being Boris's lab rat most of my life. He made sure I was perfected and immune to almost all known diseases. I got migraines, sure, but I never got colds or stomach flues or anything. And now I was severely ill. And they told me afterwards that the doctors had told them that alcohol withdrawal can actually be fatal. Now, I know the chance of me dying wasn't that big, again due to my extremely modified immune system and strength. But the thought scared me too. I was out of it for days. The guys told me afterwards that I had actually seriously asked them to just shoot me 'cause I couldn't take it. I don't remember it, but they sure as hell did – Tala Yuriy Ivanov asking to be killed, and being serious about it, is really unheard of. I've fought for my life so many times. I have always refused to give up. But that time, I would have thanked the person who put a bullet through my head. I really would.

They had a doctor over, a guy who works for the BBA named Evans, to keep watch on me as well. That was scary. I have some really bad experiences with doctors, but this guy was so respectful and pepping towards me that I eventually felt safe with him in the room. The guys promising me to kill him if he hurt me might also have had something to do with it.

When the shit finally went away, I think I slept for two days straight. And when I woke up, they told me that I wasn't allowed out of the house without them. I wasn't trusted now. Hell, I don't blame them. The first thing I would have done if they had let me out was to get hold of more booze. Simple as that. Fucking pathetic, but true. Evans stayed with us, he felt it might be a good idea, and the others agreed. I didn't really have any saying in the matter. And to be frank, I needed it. I was a complete mess. I would forget to eat if they didn't put the plate in front of me and made sure I ate it. I would sleep for hours upon hours, forgetting to shower and shave, and having a really hard time keeping my grip on reality. That was really my rock bottom. The nightmares were worse than ever, the flashbacks were triggered by anything – and sleeping was really the only thing I could do. Even with the nightmares going berserk in my head, I preferred them over getting flashbacks by a door closing or someone's phone starting to ring.

And people wonder why I drank. I'd like someone to try being in my head during that time – see how they manage it.

I felt like I was losing my mind completely, and I was terrified. Because I stood alone in it. Sure, the guys did all they could to help me, and I am forever thankful for having them in my life. But the most important person was missing. At that time, Kai had been gone for six months – and for two of them, we had not got a single sign of life from him. It was like he had vanished from the face of the earth. Every time I closed my eyes, I hoped to either not wake up again, or to wake up with him next to me. If there is a person I am really dependent on, it's Kai. And I am not the slightest bit ashamed of that.

I'm not sure how long I was completely out of touch with reality, but I think it was around two weeks. And then, one day – I think it was a Wednesday, but I am far from sure – Kai came home. Well, what was left of him, anyway. I was shocked and terrified.

My Kai was... a total wreck.


	3. Kai

We got a request that afternoon to open the front gates to allow a car from the BBA access to the grounds. All of us were really confused – normally we went in to town to meet with them. Something was up, and suddenly I was scared. Them coming here could only mean bad news. I thought it had something to do with the kid I ran over, and tried to prepare myself for a lot of legal trouble.

However, that was not the case. We stood in the doorway and watched as Mr. Dickinson stepped out of the back seat and allowed the driver to take something out of the car. We saw a messy slate and midnight blue mop of hair as they lifted a bundle wrapped in blankets and approached our door. Spencer was actually the first to catch on – he is the parent in the family, after all – and hurried out to take over. When he came back inside, with Mr. D in tow, he carefully folded down a bit of the fabric, and we just gasped. We could only see Kai's face, but that was bad enough. He was asleep, or unconscious, so we could take a good look at him. His cheeks were hollow, and we could see the outlines of his chin and cheekbones way too clearly. There were dark rings under his eyes and he was pale as a ghost. His neck was so thin, I wondered how the hell it could support his head at all. We just looked at each other, Spencer paler than the rest of us.

"He weighs nothing," he said. "What the hell's going on?"

Mr. Dickinson sighed, and the look in his eyes was a mixture between sadness, worry and pain. That made me even more terrified. From the look of it, Kai was really, really sick – and despite him being through almost the same amount of experiments as me, his immune system wasn't as strong as mine. A fact that had always pissed Boris off, and caused him to pretty much torture him to 'make his body stronger and teach him to put such petty things aside'. Kai's immune system is still stronger than pretty much anyone else's, but he can still get sick. Not often – but when it happens he gets _really_ sick. We went into the living room, and Spence put Kai down next to me, and I pulled him as close as I could. He smelled of hospital and disinfectants – his own flowery but spicy smell had almost disappeared.

"I'm sorry to come with this kind of news to you boys when you're still recovering, Tala," Mr. D said. "But I felt that it was of the utmost importance to get Kai home so he can recover and be around people who care about him."

"Thank you," Bry said. "We've been really shitting worried about him. So, what's wrong with him?"

"He was found during a raid in the home of a known drug dealer and pimp, along with several other young men. He was unconscious due to an overdose of what we suspect to be heroin, and..." he paused, looking very uncomfortable. "There were signs of rather violent sex, he had a lot of cuts and bruises. As you can see, he is severely malnourished, and he is currently recovering from pneumonia. We were unable to move him until today. He hasn't spoken a single word beside the phrase 'pozhaluĭsta, ubyeĭ menya'. I don't know what it means, but it caused the hospital staff here in Moscow to go pale, so I assume it's nothing good." We went pale too, I can tell you: that phrase means 'please, kill me'. Mr. D sighed and continued. "We believe he's been either selling himself or using these... rapes as a way of self torture, but we are not sure. And, as I said, he has only spoken that sentence since we found him in Tokyo three weeks ago. Poor boy. He always seems to blame himself for everyone's pain, at least for as long as I known him."

"Yeah," Ian said. "He's always been that way. He cares so much for everyone else that he forgets to take care of himself. And when people he cares about hurt, he feels like he failed them."

"I have noticed the same. Now, I have informed Dr. Evans of his condition and he will take care of him as well as you, Tala. As it is now, he cannot eat solid food – only nutritional drinks. He is too weak to move on his own, and can only sit up with support. We will send over a wheelchair for him to use when he is stronger. One of you must be with him at all times – seeing that doctors and strangers upsets him. He tried to pull out the IV's when he arrived at the hospital, as well as trying to fight the shots needed to be given. It was really horrible to see."

"Yeah," Bry said. "Well, Kai's experiences when it comes to doctors has been beyond fucking horrible. What do you think Boris's mad fucking scientists did to him?"

"I know it was more than he has ever told me. I have not asked, since it's so difficult for all of you to speak about it. Now, who will take the first watch? The nutritional drinks will be here within an hour. There are a lot of them, so you might want to make sure there is space to store them. Also make sure he gets plenty of fluids, and that he takes the medication. Dr. Evans will of course administer it but he might spit it back out. It is crucial for his recovery that he takes them. About the fluids; he can't hold a glass for himself – so he will need straws."

The severity of his illness became even scarier as we heard all of this, and horrid visions of losing him flashed across my mind repeatedly. I think that was the first time I realized that my feelings for our precious phoenix might have surpassed friendship and turned into something more. However, with him being so severely ill and me still fighting these insane urges and all the flashback and nightmares – talking to him about it was really out of the question.

"So what do we do now?" I don't think I've ever seen Ian that pale. The guy is known for his 'fuck fear' attitude, so when he is visibly scared – you know it's bad. Mr. D sighed and looked at Kai with an expression of almost fatherly worry.

"He needs to rest now. The transport exhausted him I'm afraid. You must decide who takes the first shift of watching him."

"I will," I said. "He'll be sleeping in my room." The others gave me this 'are you fucking crazy? You're in the middle of post-withdrawal hell yourself!' - look. And I countered it with the most frightening glare I could muster. Kai was staying with me, end of story. The guys shrank, and even Mr. D looked very intimidated. "Kai. Will. be. Sleeping. in. My. Room. Period."

Spencer was the first to recover – I guess his parental instincts kicked in again – and picked him up, taking the stairs two steps at a time. It was when he placed Kai on the bed and removed the blanket so we could tuck him in that we really saw how emaciated he was. His arms were like twigs, and the joints of his elbows were way more visible than they should have been. As we lifted his shirt, we were treated to every single rib in his chest as well as hipbones like a pair of shovels. I wanted, we all wanted, to cry at the sight, but we knew we couldn't. He needed us to be strong for him now, and we went into team mode. We didn't need to talk about it – we just acted.

I crept into the bed next to him and pulled him close, trying to give him some of my body heat since he was practically shivering. Spencer made sure he was tucked in properly, and then they sat down and just watched him – looks of pain and total disbelief on their faces. Kai had been in bad shape before, but this was the worst. My own agony came back and hit me like a punch to the gut. I felt like I had failed him too. I felt like I should have been out there searching for him, but instead I had been busy getting fucking shitfaced on a daily basis. I felt so useless and selfish. Alcoholism _is_ selfish – there's no denying it – and it became clear to me how much everyone else had been hurting because of me. I began to cry, and just buried my face against Kai's hair – refusing to let him go or to be comforted. I was too busy suffering and feeling guilt and self loathing. I can't really explain the exact emotions, but somehow I suddenly became afraid that if I let go – I would lose him.

The flashbacks came one after another – memories of all the times in the Abbey one of us had been so badly injured or tortured that we were scared to let the other fall asleep, because he might not wake up again. I don't know if you can understand how horrible that is to feel when you're a five, six, maybe seven year old boy. We saw the ugly face of death way too early. We lost our innocence the day we stepped inside the gates of that place. We never had a childhood. The conditions we lived under forced us to become adults before we were ten years old. And now I felt even more like a wreck myself. The urge to drink became harder and harder to deal with, and the guys knew it. In hindsight, I don't know how they managed. With both me and Kai being so completely fucked up and unable to take care of ourselves – must have taken a bigger toll on them than they admit to us. But they did it, and God I love them for it. I've tried to express my gratitude, but they just wave it off, saying that's what family do. And I guess they're right. Bry broke down a little while after BEGA, and we all took care of him then. When Ian stopped eating for months, we were there to take care of him. When Spence broke down and refused to leave his room for six months, we were there for him. No one else was.

There were moments when I had to bite my tongue almost to blood in order not to beg them to give me a drink. Even after that nasty withdrawal, even when the light in my life needed me to be strong, I wanted so bad to just drink it all away. I occupied myself with taking care of Kai like a mother hen and watching movies around the clock. I had to keep my mind focused at all times, or I felt like I was going crazy. But I'm going ahead of time now.

Kai woke up next morning, and we were relieved to hear that small kitty-like whimper he always makes just before he wakes up. We were all scared he wouldn't wake up again, and let out a breath of pure 'Thank God!' when his eyes finally opened a little. It felt absolutely awful to see how difficult it was for him to even turn his head to look at me.

"Hey, Kai," I said. Kai can bring out softness in my voice that I have never been able to use with anyone else. Strange, really. Something I guessed was a smile showed on his face and he managed a;

"Hey, Tal," before he was out of energy again. His voice was so small. The guys came up to the bed to greet him too, and I knew he was happy when he realized he was at home. We managed to get him to drink some water, but then he fell asleep again. It seemed he was so drained of strength that just greeting us and drinking three sips of water exhausted him – and I had a hunch that it wasn't just his body that was exhausted. Last time he had been home, he had been so over-energetic that I was afraid for him because of that. He was almost manic – but then, the last few days he spent at home, his eyes darkened again and he went silent. And then we just woke up one morning and he was gone without a trace. I seriously don't know how he does it. Even when we've been awake to try and stop him, he slips past us. It's like he's a ghost. Well, he's trained to be one, but I don't like that he uses that training to run away from us.

Three hours later, he woke up again. I felt something poke me on the arm and realized that it was Kai's index finger. I had fallen asleep as well, and ended up lying halfway on top of him. Need I say I hurried to get off him before I accidentally crushed that frail body of his? He gave me another weak smile, and I saw him try to gather energy to speak again.

"Wa-ter..." he finally managed, but I was already pouring him a glass. Mr. D had said lots of fluid, so I was gonna give him lots of fluids. I actually had to stop him from drinking too fast, and I felt a bit relieved at that. We had been afraid that we were gonna have to force him to drink – seeing that Kai can be more stubborn than the entire world population of mules. When I moved to put the glass down, he almost broke my heart by trying to reach for it.

"Hey, easy, Kai," I said. "You'll get more in a minute. You can't drink too much in one go – it'll make you sick." Then I was treated to one of the things people don't think Kai would ever be able to do; very sad puppy eyes. He can. And he does it really fucking good. Sometimes he does it just to annoy you, but there are times when he really is precisely what those eyes claim him to be. "I'm sorry, Kai, but we need to be very careful. You mustn't get sicker than you already are. We're here to make you better. Ok?"

At that moment, when Kai tried to gather energy to speak again – Dr. Evans decided to show up, causing Kai to more or less panic. He tried to move to get away, but his body was too weak to move, and I could see his entire body tremble and those wonderful crimson eyes were full of nothing but pure fear. So I got in bed and pulled him into my arms, and I held him like I would hold a small child – something Kai wouldn't ever allow someone to see me do. But he was too busy being frightened at that moment and just hid against my shirt, shaking like a leaf. Thankfully, Evans had enough sense to stop by the door and not try to approach us until Kai had calmed down some. I think it took closer to fifteen minutes of me holding him tight and stroking his midnight hair and small back and just talking soothing words to him before he even stopped shivering. Then it took a few minutes more before he even moved his head to look at the new person. And, I gotta say, Evans is the only doc in this world I have been thankful for having around. He hadn't moved an inch, and was just letting Kai study him for a while. He made no attempts to even speak. Nothing. He just stood there. I felt Kai's grip on my shirt tighten, I guess as much as it could, and I decided to break this deadlock.

"Kai, This is Dr. Evans," I told him. "He works for the BBA and he's both mine and your new doctor. He's been taking care of me for the past weeks, and now he'll help me take care of you." I could feel in his stiff posture that Kai wasn't convinced. "He's not hurt me once during these weeks, and the guys will kill him if he does, ok? He's not like the others. He heals, he doesn't hurt. Ok, Kai? I promise I won't let him hurt you. I'll stay right here with you." He just continued to study the doctor for a few more minutes – eyes narrowed and his grip on my shirt still tight. Then, finally, he gave something of a nod, and I signed for Evans to come over. He squatted down next to the bed, and I carefully turned Kai over so he could look at him – seeing that Kai was still laying on top of me and had hidden his face against my shirt again.

Thing is, when Kai is sick, you kinda have to treat him like a wounded animal. He gets really defensive, tends to growl and fight anyone coming to close or try to escape when he's around unfamiliar people. We have all been raised like that. When we are injured or sick, we are vulnerable. Therefore attack is the best defence. Never show anyone how much it hurts or how scared you are. Keep them at a distance at all costs. Which is why we hardly ever go to a hospital with him. Imagine him alone in a ward, trying to fight off all the doctors and nurses because of his experiences and flashbacks when really severely ill. That's nothing short of a disaster – and I don't get how Mr. D managed to have him in a hospital for three weeks. But then again, he said it had been chaotic.

"Hey, Kai," Evans said calmly. And then Kai did exactly what I expected him to do; he growled. Evans looked at me, and I shook my head.

"He's scared," I explained. "He hates to have people he doesn't know around him when he's this sick. Be glad he's so weak – or else he could have lunged at you."

"I see," was all he said. He didn't seem too frightened or uncomfortable. "Kai, I'm here to help you, just as Tala said. I'm not going to do anything bad to you, ok? Today, I need to listen to your heart and check your blood pressure. Then I'll give you some antibiotics. That's it. Tomorrow, I'm going to ask Tala to help us. We need to weigh you. You're a bit too thin and we need to see how well you're gaining weight back on. Then I'm gonna give you some more antibiotics. Nothing more than that – ok?"

Now, here's another thing I like about Evans. Normally, the doctors always turns to the family to ask – over the head of the person who's sick – which I think is just so disrespectful and rude. He didn't even look at me. He kept eye contact with Kai the whole time, and no doubt endured Kai's unblinking studying. When Kai is watching or studying something very intensely, he hardly even blinks and his eyes don't ever flicker. It can be really unnerving, even to us who know him so well. Eventually, Kai nodded and let him do what he had to do. It wasn't a problem until the antibiotics came into the picture. You see, it was supposed to be administered through injections. Kai panicked again. God, it breaks my heart every time that happens! In the end, we had to call Spencer up and have him hold Kai, while I kept his gaze on me and talked to him the whole time. But, in the end, Evans managed to give him the shot, and he didn't even feel it.

After that, Kai had absolutely no energy left and fell asleep again. Which was bad, seeing that he needed food. We managed to wake him up again, three hours later and get some nutritional drinks in him, but he didn't seem to enjoy it much – and I really don't blame him. I took a sip of one of them, and I just wanted to gag. And right after that, he fell asleep on my chest again, still holding on to my shirt. Then I let myself feel some of the pain I had kept away during the day in order to care for him – and again I started crying. I cried because of my own hellish pain and insane urges. I cried because of anger about our so-called childhood and what people did to us. I cried because of worry for Kai and for how much this must hurt the guys too. I don't know how it happened, but when I woke up next morning, all of us were in my bed.

Does that surprise you? That the big bad Blitzkrieg Boys can sleep in the same bed? Well, we can and we do. When we need comfort and to feel that someone cares, we just make a human Tetris out of ourselves and sleep together. It was really the only means we had in the Abbey to feel... I guess, loved. Because we all love each other. We really do. No matter what you say, Bryan, Ian, Spencer and Kai are my family. They're the only ones I ever had, and it's the same for them.

Next morning, I had to face the music.


	4. Facing the Music

I woke up slowly and carefully looked around. Kai was sleeping with his head on my chest and Bryan was lying behind him with an arm around his waist. Ian was sprawled out across my legs, and I had Spencer's tree-trunk of an arm around both me and Kai. Yes, Spencer's arms really are that long. Sure, it was March in Russia, and thus rather fucking cold – but us five sleeping together, dressed for winter, is too warm no matter how you look at it. I felt like I had been sleeping in a sauna and Kai was even more wet from being squashed between me and Bry. It was good for him since he needed to stay warm, but I and Bry are the two out of the family who has the highest body temperature at any given time. The others call us the walking stoves.

Kai has always borrowed my warmth during the winter – because, contrary to popular belief and his bad ass image, Kai gets cold way too easily. He actually freezes from October to April, but Boris and Voltaire taught him never to show it. Warmth, cold, none of it was supposed to matter to us. But he suffers every winter, sleeping under double down comforters and an extra blanket, takes hot baths or showers for hours, stays as close to one of the fire places here as he possibly can. There's something wrong with his circulation, as far as we've been told, so we do our best to help him. Ian struggles the same, but not to that insane degree, and Spencer honestly doesn't give a rat's ass about hot or cold at all. Ok, not entirely accurate. Spencer can't handle heat all too well. We went to the Bahamas for some beyblading crap, and he was sick most of the time. Sorry lot, aren't we? Well, it's called being human, and despite what many people think – we all are.

Now I was faced with the problem of getting myself out of this pile of sleeping guys without waking any of them and definitely without disturbing Kai, so that I could take a shower. But, as I realized pretty quickly when I tried to move and either Kai whimpered or Spencer muttered, I was stuck. I had to wake them all up if I was going to get out of the bed, and I was not looking forward to it. But thankfully, the gods took pity on me for once in my life, and Dr Evans showed up to see where the hell we were. Apparently, breakfast time was hours ago.

"Ah, there you all are," he said and approached the bed. "Tala, Mr Dickinson called a few minutes ago. You need to get up and ready – the boy's parents' lawyers are coming over to speak to you. Mr Dickinson has sent for yours as well. But you need to shower and eat so you can think properly."

A small whimper was heard next to me, and I looked down into a pair of questioning and confused ruby orbs. Obviously, Kai had heard the part about the lawyers, and I could tell that he was worried and... scared, I guess. I smiled softly at him and caressed his midnight hair.

"Don't worry, Kai," I told him. "There's something I need to take care of, ok? The guys will look after you until I come back."

Apparently, those were the _wrong_ words to use, because his eyes went wide as dinner plates and filled up with panic – no doubt visions of the worst case scenarios playing out before him. He thought someone was going to take me away, and no wonder he panicked then. He refused to let go of me, even after Evans had woken the others up and they tried to convince him that it would be fine. Kai was stuck in panic mode, and clung to my shirt as tight as he could – which wasn't very, all things considered, but I couldn't bring myself to pry him off. Spencer and Bryan tried as well, but they gave up too. In the end, I had to take Kai in my arms and carry him along to the master bathroom. Evans thought it was a good idea anyway, seeing that Kai was still too weak to even sit up by himself – let alone shower on his own. He had already come to the conclusion that he had to leave it to us to help Kai with things as showers and the like, since he definitely don't trust anyone but us. And being showered by someone else is a very vulnerable position to be in. Trust me, I know.

But just getting to the bathroom was hard. Carrying Kai like this set off a tidal wave of flashbacks, and I had to re-live so many times I had carried him in the same way through the corridors of the Abbey, through Moscow on snowy winter nights when he had been beaten almost to death, or one of our kills had gone wrong. I don't know if you can imagine how much that hurts, when you're not even twelve years old and are faced with possibly losing the person that means more to you than your own life. I don't know if you can understand how it hurts when you have been taking very thorough anatomy classes all your life and knows exactly how bad the injuries are and how great the chances of survival are and how much time there's left to treat it before you lose the person.

I had to stop every other meter to try and clear my head. Evans saw it, and helped me through it by speaking to me the whole time, and having a hand on my shoulder. He thankfully knew better than to try and take Kai from me at that point. With the state I was in – hardly even in the same reality as him – I would probably have mistaken him for one of Boris' guards and gone in for the kill before ever letting my most important person be taken away from me. Kai was holding on to me as tightly as he could as well, and he had buried his face against my chest. Any attempts to take him would probably result in him panicking as well and attack despite his frail condition. The guys would have gotten away with it, because no matter how clouded my mind has ever been, I have never once not recognized them. I have carried everyone but Spencer like this many, many times, and they have carried me. I can easily lift Spencer's weight, but since he is so much taller than me, it's hard to carry him for long. Thankfully, Spence is one tough cookie to crumble, and it takes a whole lot of shit before he goes down, so we can usually get back to safety before he collapses.

Finally, we made it into the huge master bathroom, and Evans went to prepare Kai's drinks and meds. I put Kai down in one of the divans in there. Yeah, the master bathroom in our house is huge enough to have furniture in it. We also have a steam room, a Jacuzzi big enough for all of us, a regular bath tub, and a shower big enough for three. The house is as huge as it is old, so Kai had to be rather creative when he decorated it. And no, I did not get any naughty ideas when I undressed myself and him. We've shared showers and rooms since we were kids, so I already know what Kai's body looks like. Besides, I still wasn't a hundred percent sure if I was in love with him, so that never even occurred to me. And right now, all of that stuff was not even in my mind. Kai was very, very sick, and that was it. I had to take care of him first of all, and any other thoughts and emotions had to come second. It was heartbreaking to see him so tired and small. He was trying to help me get him out of the damp clothing, but he could barely lift his arms, and I know he felt embarrassed about it. No one likes to be weak, and when you're raised to have no weakness of any kind, a situation like this is totally humiliating. But I got him out of it and lifted him up and got him under the water. Our shower thankfully has a built in bench to sit on – don't ask me why, I have no idea, and neither does Kai – and I put him down on it. Good thing Kai is physically unable to grow a beard, because shaving a semi-conscious person is _a lot_ easier said than done.

It almost broke my heart when I turned off the water and a small protest came from him, followed by him starting to shudder. I wrapped him up in the largest towel I could find and after I got myself somewhat decent, I got out, and found Bry waiting outside.

"Mr D called," he said. "They're gonna be here soon. Your lawyer, that Nichols guy, is waiting down in the library." I nodded, and he turned to Kai. "Kai, I'm gonna help you into some clothes and then you need to eat something, ok?"

Kai tightened his grip on me, and Bry gave one of his very rare soft smiles. Yes, Bryan Kuznetsov is capable of smiling with warmth – although it doesn't happen that often. But he has a real soft spot for Kai too, seeing our precious phoenix is the youngest of the bunch and for a few months in the beginning of our stay in the Abbey, it was just the three of us. Spencer and Ian are a year older than us, so it took a while before we got to meet them, though we actually all came there the same spring. While I'm his best friend, Bry is his big brother – that's the best way I can explain it. I pity the person who hurts Kai, because Bryan will go in for the kill immediately. No one touches his little brother and lives, simple as that. He reached out a hand and ruffled Kai's wet hair.

"C'mon Kai," he said again. "You'll get worse if you stay in that towel, and Evans has promised that you can lie down in the TV room with us if you eat a little. Tala will be in the library, so he'll be close too. No one's gonna take him away, ok? We won't let 'em."

Kai looked at him, and then at me. We could see that he was struggling to find strength to speak.

"W-what...happened?" he managed to whisper. "Why... is a... lawyer here?"

I knew I had to be the one explaining this to him, but there was no time right now, so I looked him the tired and glazed red orbs.

"I've screwed up pretty bad. When the meeting is over, I'll explain it to you, Kai. I promise."

He gave us both those scared and worried puppy eyes, and when he was going to try and say something again, Bry put his finger across his lips.

"It'll be ok, Blue. C'mon, Tal needs to get ready. He can't meet with lawyers in a towel, ya know."

When Bry calls Kai 'Blue', Kai always gives in. No one but Bry calls him that, and it dates back right to when we came to the Abbey. It took a while before Kai would speak even a word, so we had no idea what his name was. They never told us. Bry just called him Blue. I didn't really call him anything besides '_malen'kii drug_', which means 'little friend' in Russian.  
And, of course, Kai looked like a sad kitten, but allowed me to hand him over to Bryan. It was obvious that he didn't like having to be away from me in this kind of situation. Had he been well, he would have been sitting right next to me, with his herd of lawyers and that death glare only he can conjure. And now he couldn't. He told me later that it was really hard on him not being able to help me out then. But, I have a great lawyer as it is, and it was Kai who hired him. Andrew Nichols is one of the world's toughest lawyers, and he has followed us since we left the Abbey. He knows all about us, and he's got my back all the way.

I made sure to get dressed appropriately for the meeting, and got in a pair of jeans and a short sleeved black shirt. I try not to wear that world famous outfit too much – even though it's my favourite – because it attracts a lot of attention. People know that the combination of burning red horns and white and orange with a little blue means that the big bad wolf and lead evil Russian psycho, Tala Ivanov is coming their way. I get more negative than positive reactions to it – it's the same for my family. And I think it would be wrong for this situation, so I avoided it. Mr Nichols was waiting for me in the library, just as Bryan told me.

"Ah, hello, Tala," he said and shook my hand. "We've got half an hour before the others get here. They got stuck in traffic."

"Thank God," I sighed. "I need to talk this through with someone before I come face to face with the kid's parents."

He nodded and pointed to the armchair next to his. We both sat down, and he looked through the papers he had with him.

"Ok," he said. "So, the victim, Andrei Nikolaevich, age fifteen, is currently in comatose."

I could feel all colours fade from my face. He was just fifteen. And suddenly I had a name on him instead of just 'the kid'. Andrei Nikolaevich. Fifteen years old. I wanted to die. I wanted to get up on the highway and be run over.

"Tala," Mr Nichols said and shook my shoulder. Apparently I had spaced out. "I need to know how much of it you remember. I have the results from the blood tests done on you. You had a BAC of almost two point six per mille." He looked at me with some sort of stern compassion. "Tala, we need to face a fact here." I knew what was coming, and I didn't like it. I didn't wanna have to think about it. "You are an alcoholic."

"Please don't say that..." I don't think I managed more than a whisper.

"I have been aware of this for a long time. You have a drinking problem, and you have had it for as long as I've known you."

I couldn't help it, I broke down again. He held his hand on my shoulder and handed me some tissues. If my lawyer, whom I saw about once a month, could see that I drank as much as I did – how many others had? BBA-people? Reporters? Other bladers? The last one scared me. I've been a jerk to most, but I actually like many of them. The thought of the other teams seeing that I was drunk, or talked about me and my drinking, was excruciating. I've worked so hard on the image of myself as the guy who has no weakness, who never breaks, who's always in control of himself and every situation, who's the incarnation of self discipline. Saying I was ashamed of myself doesn't even begin to cut it. Somehow I managed to pull myself together enough to at least form coherent words, though the pain was unbearable.

"What are we gonna do, then?" I asked him. "What the hell can I do to atone for this?"

"Well, they have pressed charges against you for aggravated assault and drunk driving, and they demand two millions in compensation for damages. They are willing to settle for four, but they do want you behind bars."

"Four millions in dollars or roubles?"

"Roubles."

On my bank account at the time, I had a sum of fifteen million dollars, so four million in roubles was no problem. I would gladly give more than that. Now, I don't think you can make up for something like what I did with money, but if it was what they wanted, then I would give it to them. I looked at Mr Nichols.

"Give it to them," I said. "I will pay for his medical care, his rehabilitation and anything else he needs."

"Are you sure, Tala? It's a lot of money."

"No, not in comparison to their suffering."

"Very well," he said. "Then we've got a strategy for that. I'm gonna do my best to keep you out of prison. If it's one thing you don't need to experience again, that's the one. I know the Abbey was not a prison in that sense, but it was still the same. You didn't have freedom, and you were there against you will and under threat. The things you suffered in there were monstrous, and I don't want you to have to be behind any bars again."

"Thank you."

An hour later, the family arrived. Spencer let them in, and the first thing that happened when they came into the library where I and Nichols were sitting was that his mother went straight for my throat. Her lawyers stopped her, but the things she called me are best to not repeat. Angry Russian women are not to be underestimated. After she calmed down some, we all sat down around one of the small work tables there. The lawyers introduced themselves and the parents, and Nichols did the same.

"Well, let's get to it, then," he said.

"I want that monster behind bars!" the mother shouted. "I know what kind of evil being that man is!"

I sighed and was just about to speak when my lawyer put his hand on my shoulder in a discrete gesture to shut me up. Then he looked at the people across the table.

"I will not let my client spend a single night behind any bars, ma'am," he said. "Mr Ivanov has been through more pain and suffering in his life than I think you can possibly comprehend."

"How dare you!" she yelled. "How dare you say that to me? I almost lost my child! I almost lost my precious Andrei because of that... that beast!"

"I dare to say that, ma'am, because it's true. Mr Ivanov knows all too well what it is like to lose a person you love. He has lost person after person since he was just a child. Now, Mr Ivanov will not deny his guilt. He admits to having a severe drinking problem – which he has had since his early teens. There is nothing he can do to undo what he has done, but he will do what he can to help you now."

"The demand is four millions," one of their lawyers said. "Then we will drop the assault charges. The drunk driving charge still stands."

"Good. Because I strongly deprecate that charge. Mr Ivanov had no intentions of causing harm to another person. He is trying to leave all such actions behind him. He willingly admits to have driven under the influence of alcohol, and will not object to those charges. Now, he has agreed to pay the four millions, and added another two. He will also pay for both the medical care and everything necessary for your son's rehabilitation. His license has already been revoked, as I am sure you know. It will be two years before he can apply for a new one."

"What are you doing?" his father asked. "We want him in jail! He must pay for what he has done to my son! You're letting him off because he's famous, aren't you? Has he bribed you to drop these charges?"

"I resent that," Nichols said, rather coldly. "Mr Ivanov would not do any such thing, and neither would I. This is what we can offer. Six million roubles in damages and all medical care and anything else needed for his recovery paid for. You can, of course take this to court, but I would strongly advise against that – and I think your lawyers here would agree."

"I strongly advise you to agree to the settlement," one of the men said to them. "Going to court with this will be a mess, and it will not solve anything, I'm afraid. Mr Ivanov is admitting his guilt and he's offering more than your demand."

"Why would we let him off so easily?" the woman said very coldly. "What does he know about this pain? What it feels like to see your child lying in a hospital bed with needles all over his arms, in a coma he might not wake up from?"

She was in a state of shock and anger, and hell, I don't blame her. But right at that moment, when she spoke those words, I just wanted to scream. I wanted to rip my clothes off and show her every little scar on my body, every damage done to me by 'holy men'. Nichols saw me clench my jaws, and sighed.

"Tala, calm down," he said, and then turned back to the others. "I understand your anger right now, ma'am, but you must try to think clearly. Do you not know what went on in the Abbey? What was done to my client and his family?"

"I don't believe in rumours."

"Oh how I wish they were rumours," he said. "Mr Ivanov and the other four young men living in this house were subjects to biological and bio-mechanical experiments. They were subjected to torture on a regular basis. They witnessed a total of one hundred and forty-seven children die, and had to hear of the death of six hundred and ninety-eight more. There have been several occasions where their lives has been hanging by a thread. My client has been in a coma himself, for almost three months following a brutal and long lasting torture causing him to still suffer horrible migraines, lack of tactility in many places on his body, aching joints causing him to almost unable to move during certain weather conditions. Apart from that he still suffers from panic attacks, flash backs, nightmares and a severe difficulty being around unfamiliar people."

It felt fucking horrible to hear straight out how fucked up I really was. I felt so small, weak and pathetic at that moment, I just wanted to shrink through the floor or shoot myself. And I felt bad to have to play the 'horrible past'-card. But at the same time, I know Mr Nichols was right. If I had to spend another night behind bars against my will – I would break. And right now, Kai needed me. My family needed me to straighten up and get a freaking grip on myself so I could live a normal life with them again. Going to prison was not an option. Sounds selfish? Well, re-live my life and then bitch with me. I felt, and still feel more guilt than I can handle at once for what I did to that kid. But I tried my best to make amends by helping them out with anything they could possibly need. I still break down every now and then when I think about it, but it's slowly getting easier to handle.

They looked at each other, obviously weighing the options against each other, and then finally his father nodded.

"We can never forgive you for the pain you've caused, Mr Ivanov," he said. "But we will refrain from going to court with this. Maybe your guilty conscience is a way better punishment than any prison can give you. Just promise me something."

"Anything," I said, the first words I spoke during that meeting.

"When my son wakes up, you will ask for his forgiveness in person. I want you to take responsibility for your actions, and ask him to forgive you for ruining so much for him and us. Maybe he can find it in his heart to do it, but I wouldn't count on it. Me and my wife will never find it in our hearts. As far as I'm concerned, you are a monster that should be locked up somewhere where you would never see sunlight again."

If he stabbed me in the gut, it would have hurt less than to hear those words and see that grown man struggling against tears. I did much the same, really. I felt like I consisted of nothing but pain. The urges were wreaking havoc in my head, and I just wanted to drown myself in whatever alcoholic fluid I could find – and fast. And preferably never get sober again. Hopefully die from alcohol poisoning.

They left after that, and Mr Nichols did the same shortly afterwards to deal with all the paperwork needed to pay the damages and fix everything else. I sat there for a good half an hour after he left, trying to gather energy enough to stand up. Somehow, I did that, and headed for my room. I forgot all about everything around me and walked like a zombie through the rooms and up the stairs. I managed to get to my room, but I collapsed right on the floor with one of the worst panic attacks I had ever experienced. The guilt and self loathing, the hatred towards myself, all the images and memories resurfacing from Mr Nichols telling them about my past, all the faces I've seen filled with fear and knowledge that they were going to die – it all came crashing down on me, and then everything went black.


End file.
